A Black Dog Day
by jublke
Summary: After the Winchester brothers spend the weekend LARPing with Charlie, Dean wants to do something nice for Sam. Episode Tag to 8.11 LARP and the Real Girl. Rated T for swearing.


"Man, what an awesome week-end!" Clad in a T-shirt and sweats, Dean flopped down on the bed nearest the door. He leaned back against the headboard and stretched out his bowlegs, eyes crinkling as he recalled the day with a smile.

Sam emerged from the bathroom, bare-chested, still scrubbing his face with a washcloth to remove the red and white make-up. "And Charlie got her kingdom back. Too bad you got taken out in the first charge." As Dean stuck his tongue out, Sam gave his brother a small smile in return. "I'm glad you had a good time, Dean." Sam shook his long hair out of the leather tie and headed back to the bathroom.

Dean sighed. "Look, Sammy, I know LARPing ain't your thing -"

"It's not, but I enjoyed it." Sam walked back into the main room of their motel, T-shirt now on, his face clean but pink from scrubbing. He gave his brother a lopsided smile before sliding under the covers of the other double bed. With a yawn, he added, "It was worth it to see you that happy. Good night, Dean." Sam punched the pillow and rolled over; soon his long legs were hanging over the end of the bed.

Dean's smile faded. "G'night, Sammy." He turned off the bedside lamp, listening as he always did to the sound of his brother's breathing, until the rhythm evened out and Sam fell asleep.

But Dean couldn't let go. Their conversation had touched on an uncomfortable realization. _What makes Sam happy these days?_ Dean tried to remember the last time he'd heard a genuine laugh from his brother and realized it was before Dean had been stuck in Purgatory.

The older brother lay awake for a long time before he finally gave up and padded over to their laptop. Maybe Sam's search history would shed some light on his brother's current interests. He lifted the laptop from the table and carried it into bed with him.

Ten minutes of research later had Dean rubbing his eyes with a groan. Operation Make Sammy Laugh was a bust. Apart from Dean's bookmarks - porn, Food Network ( _that Giada De Laurentiis is way hot_ , Dean thought), pool halls, and now LARPing - there was nothing saved but hunting finds and lore-related sites. Dean suspected this probably had something to do with Sam's recent encounter with Amelia - everything about her had been purged from their laptop, including the search history.

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes again. They were stinging; probably a reaction to all of the grease paint he'd worn earlier. Maybe he was allergic to heavy makeup. The gritty feeling reminded him of the way his eyes had twitched after he'd gotten the Impala back the last time - he'd just known that Sam had let a dog in there ...

A wide smile crossed Dean's face and he started a new search. Within the hour, Dean had found exactly what he'd been looking for. He shut the laptop with a satisfying thud, set it by the nightstand, and rolled over on his stomach to sleep.

* * *

"So, where do you want to go next?" Sam took a sip of coffee and unfurled the newspaper. "We could check this out." He pointed at a local feature about a phantom soda jerk lurking in a former ice cream parlor. "Or we could call Garth -" Sam rolled his eyes, "- and see where that takes us."

Dean chewed thoughtfully on a pancake. "Already got our next job lined up," he said, thinking of the call he'd made while Sam was in the bathroom earlier. "It's about three hours from here." Dean opened a worn paper map and pointed at the tiny star he'd drawn on the neighboring state of Wisconsin.

Sam wrinkled his face in an expression that clearly conveyed doubt. "When did you find a hunt? And what's there?"

Dean licked syrup from the tines of his fork. "Actually, it was Garth's idea," he lied.

Sam rolled his eyes - apparently that was how he now reacted to the very mention of Garth - and blew out an angry snort. "Dean, I told you we should get rid of these phones! He's tracking our every move!"

Dean shrugged and stood up, tossing a twenty on the diner table. "As long as the job's good, who cares how we get it?"

Sam twisted his mouth. "Yeah, you still haven't sold me on that either. What exactly are we hunting?"

"Black dog," Dean replied, proud that he managed to keep a straight face.

* * *

Three and a half hours and two stops later - _Entirely too much coffee_ , thought Dean - the Winchester brothers pulled into the Sandy Springs Pet Rescue. Sam narrowed his eyes and stared at their surroundings as he exited the car. "A Black Dog here? Isn't that a little ironic?"

Dean shrugged as he shut the driver's side door. "According to Garth, it's already taken down one employee."

"So, we're posing as potential pet owners asking about adopting a Black Dog?" Sam shook his head. "If it's already killed someone, why didn't they try to euthanize it?"

The earnest look of puzzlement on his little brother's face almost made Dean confess everything right then, but he forced himself to play it straight for a while longer. Frowning, he shrugged. "Maybe it's a no-kill shelter?"

The brothers entered the pet rescue, Dean in the lead. A brunette in her late twenties sat behind a desk. Her name tag read Missy. "May I help you?" she asked pleasantly.

"Yeah, my name is Dean Winchester. We spoke earlier?" Dean gave her one of his best smiles while trying to ignore the frosty looks Sam was sending his way.

"Dude," Sam hissed sotto voce. "You gave her your real name!?"

"Oh!" Missy jumped up. "You're here about the black dog. We've got several for you." Sam's eyes popped. "I'll need you to fill out some paperwork first." She handed the clipboard over to Dean.

Sam grumbled in the older man's ear. "Dean, what are you -"

And Dean knew right when his brother read the page header because the words trailed off. He blinked at Dean. "We're renting a Black Dog?"

"Yep," Dean agreed, filling out his real name and inventing an address. Under phone, he put Sam's cell number.

Sam's gaze narrowed. "You're giving them my real number?"

Dean smiled at his brother and met his stare head on. "Yep. Because we're not on a job today."

Sam's eyebrows approached his hairline, which was saying something considering the size of his brother's forehead. "What?"

"Well, we can't own a dog 'cause I'm allergic. But I can put up with one for a few hours. Some shelters let you rent out a dog for the day and this was the closest one." Dean handed the clipboard back to Missy, who gestured for the brothers to follow her.

"But I thought -" Sam broke into a wide smile. "We're renting a dog today? I didn't even know you could do that."

Dean grinned back at the bounce in the other man's stride. "Yep. Dog gets an out and you get some puppy love. Win-win. This is your lucky day, little brother." Unspoken were the words, _I'm sorry I tricked you about Amelia. That was a shitty thing to do. And I'm sorry you can't have a dog when I'm around._

"Thanks, Dean." Sam gave him a soulful stare that encompassed so many unexpressed feelings that Dean finally had to look away. He got as far as - _I forgive you, Dean. I missed you, big brother. I was a mess when you were in Purgatory. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you._

As Missy walked them down a line of eager, yapping canines, Sam's smile grew wider. He stopped at the last cage in the row where a rangy-looking mutt stood with its paws on the door, licking Sam's hand through the chain-link fence. He pointed out the dog to Missy. After she'd opened the cage, attached a leash, and gave the handle to Sam, the tall man turned to his brother. Sam's smile was loud in Dean's mind: _You're the best, you know that?_

Dean replied aloud. "You're welcome, Sammy." _I love you, too._

* * *

Not mine, don't own.

I'm watching the middle of Season 8 and I really miss the communication between the Winchester brothers. I wanted to write an episode tag for 8.11 because it was the first time this season that we really see Sam break out of his comfort zone solely for Dean. I thought Dean might want to return the favor.

Cross-posted at Archive of Our Own.


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